Missing Manny

I will leave his surname unsaid in deference to the family's wishes for privacy. But since one of his bosses in the publishing world, Maria Karina Africa Bolasco, has paid her respects to him in this forum, I will follow with my long-delayed tribute of sorts to he who was both colleague and friend, my candy buddy who'd hand me a cube of cloyingly delicious caramel after a blah lunch. Manny became Manni, then switched back to Manny and finally M.G. in the book credits. I was happy and honored to do quick edits for him and Gilda Cordero Fernando, the perfect pair to ever grace the Philippine book universe. For he was that rare creative director--he read the raw manuscripts, gave his insightful inputs (no wonder GCF gave him co-author status in the Bench-sponsored landmark tome Pinoy Pop Culture). In what seemed to have been his last design job (correct me if I'm mistaken, Katya Guerrero), the volume on the life and art of Constancio Bernardo, Manny just had the old man's abstract work wrap both front and back covers, no text whatsoever. That spoke volumes. I will miss opportunities to again be handmaiden to geniuses. For you were one, Manny, and somewhere, sometime I will again play the long-playing vinyl you gave me of Sarah Vaughan singing Michel Legrand compositions. Adieu!

Benjie and Carina

Oil on canvas by Benjie Mallari

"Palm Sunday," oil on canvas by Mario Parial Upon waking yesterday morning, I reached for my phone instinctively, half dreading what the day's news feed would bring me. The month of October has been a period of reaping of good souls. First, there was Mario Baluyot, my husband's best friend and our compadre. Next was graphic designer Manny, one of the country's best and whose passing I could not mourn openly in this space as a gesture of respect to the family's wishes. Next came Vic Tirol followed quickly by Benjie Mallari. And yesterday, the painter Mario Parial's wife and muse, Carina. It doesn't help that the heavens are sending gusts of wind and pelting us with rain. Husband Rolly Fernandez and Benjie last saw each other at our home two months ago. He arrived after breakfast lugging a painting from his last show. No, Rolly wasn't out to purchase it. He and Benjie had a tradition of swapping art works. I overheard them laughing and exchanging stories over mugs of coffee in the veranda while I attended to house chores. The friends parted before lunch. As Rolly escorted Benjie to his vehicle, the latter's last words were, "P're, eighty thousand 'yan!" When my husband relayed this to me, I laughed inside. It was typical Benjie statement laced not with arrogance but with lightness and humor. We were glad that he had come up in the art world. Our encounters with Carina were always linked with Mario. We first made our Parial purchase at the old Heritage Art Center on Lantana Street, Cubao. I chose the Palm Sunday scene, drawn to the innocence of the children's faces and the almost naif-like style of the artist. When Rolly gained Mario's acquaintance and friendship, we would make trips to their Marikina home. Collector hubby would climb all the way to Mario's attic and rummage through old works, including a 1965 print. The artist appreciated that Rolly liked his prints and bought scores of them, later exhibited at Hiraya Gallery. In fact. before Carina passed on, she had planned on following up the book on Mario's paintings with a second one on his prints. What we liked about the works, especially where females figures were concerned, were the women had the shape and features of Carina's cameo-like face. She was truly his inspiration, and she returned his devotion in kind. I used to see her at the Fine Arts faculty room at the University of the Philippines Diliman handing out invitations to Mario's show. She had a personal word with each of the invitees. She was that gracious. On this day colored a bleak gray, my family and I send you off with wishes of happy rainbow trails, Benjie and Carina!

Mario, we still have much to talk about

Mario at Carmel by the Sea I must confess I am unable to find the words to express my grief. Since yesterday, my family and I have kept abreast of developments after we received word that our friend Mario M. Baluyot suffered a massive heart attack. During our meals, Rolly and I talked of him as though he were with us at the table, praising him for his generosity, his wanderlust (the two top things my daughters Kimi and Ida remember about him), with the unuttered wish that maybe, just maybe, God would still give his big heart a fighting chance. Today another friend based abroad, Wilson Guysayko Bailon, broke the news that Mario is gone. With tears unshed and with a shot of adrenaline that kept me lucid in the early hours of the morning, I emailed Mario's son BJ to convey our condolences in what I hoped to be not too trite and cliche-ish words. Mario was Kimi's baptismal godfather. Before those ties, he and Rolly were already tight buddies in the journalistic circle although they worked for different newspapers, Mario at Manila Bulletin, Rolly at Daily Express. They were Upsilon fraternity brods and that sort of bond is hard to sneeze at. Later, Mario moved to Agence France Presse where he formed a union of two with Monica S. Feria, if memory serves, and which was ground for his termination. When Mario moved to California, we kept in touch by snail mail and later, by email. He sent me and the children books by parcel which kept our hours full in a Baguio house that then had no television. When Rolly and I traveled to the US in 2008, Mario volunteered to be our "taxi driver" all over Los Angeles and all the way to San Francisco via the ultra-scenic Pacific Coast Highway. We ran out of gas mid-way, but Mario was unfazed. A Mexican handyman gave us free gas and we pulled away with a wave and a "Gracias!" At each stop he and Rolly would fight over who'd pay the restaurant tab. Usually, Mario won. He also brought us to the Hearst Castle, to Oprah Winfrey's favorite restaurant in Santa Barbara, to Canterbury Records in Pasadena where we spent an afternoon picking through classical and jazz CDs, to Norton Simon Museum for my encounters with Auguste Rodin, to Carmel by the Sea where I was able to snap a picture of him among the flowers. Most of all, he brought us home to our best selves--the selves we enjoyed when the company was good, when the food was savory to our tongues, when the music soothed, when the conversation was deep and uninterrupted and provided glimpses to our souls. Truly, as your frat's hymn goes, when we meet each other in the sun, there will be much to tell.

Mario and Rolly at the centennial of their fraternity